‘Tiffany never met him?’ said Rick.

Marcus shook his head. ‘None of those hookers ever met him. She said he just gave them their instructions remotely. Signed it off as Mister Snigiss, nothing more, nothing less. That’s what Tiffany said.’

Bailey processed what she was hearing with profound interest. Invisibility. It had been a hallmark of Mister Snigiss all that time ago and it was a trait he appeared to have retained all these years later… if this was the same Mister Snigiss who’d kidnapped Jennifer. And there had to be a very high chance that it was the same individual, given the distinctiveness of his name, as well as the type of person she was starting to understand him to be.

‘This high-class hooker outfit,’ said Stephen. ‘Has it got a name?’

Marcus nodded. ‘Ophidia. That’s what it’s called. Ophidia.’

‘Ophidia?’ said Nancy derisively. ‘Swanky name for what is basically just a bunch of prozzies at the end of the day.’

She gave a nod to Stephen, a mandate for him to check it out in more detail.

Bailey herself memorised the name. Later on she’d be doing her own bit of research.

‘Whoever this Mister Snigiss is,’ said Nancy, stroking her Pomeranian, ‘we’ll find him and we’ll kill him. No one murders one of the Molloys and gets away with it. No one.’

48

Barely had Bailey sat down on the knackered old sofa in the temporary HQ than she was explaining to Frank and Dale what she’d learnt at the gangland interrogation, the words spilling out in an excited torrent.

The two men listened patiently, unable to get a word in edgeways.

‘And I checked out what “Ophidia” meant,’ she said. ‘It’s not just a fancy-sounding name. It’s also the scientific word for “snakes”. This Mister Snigiss has to be the same one who abducted Jennifer. The snake connection is too much of a coincidence. If you recall, Jennifer’s Mister Snigiss used to keep a pet snake…’ She opened her purse and once again reached for Jennifer’s picture of Mister Snigiss.

Frank held up his hand for Bailey to stop. She paused. The two men exchanged uncomfortable glances. She detected a strained edge to the air. Something wasn’t right. Why weren’t they as enthused as she was?

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, her face dropping in dismay.

‘Adrian Molloy’s murder investigation has been shut down,’ said Dale bluntly.

‘What?!’ she exclaimed.

‘It’s come down from higher up.’ He jutted his thumb at the ceiling.

‘Why?!’

‘Why do you think? You saw who was featured on that sex tape. If this comes out, then there is absolutely no chance that Lewis Ballantyne will be elected as Mayor of London.’

‘But—’ started Bailey.

‘Do you know how much money he’s pledged to pour into the Met?’ Frank interrupted. ‘Millions and millions. The top brass are dead set on him getting elected. He’s currently the front runner and they want him to stay that way. And they’re not going to let something like this murder investigation get in the way. As far as they’re concerned, Adrian was a relatively unsuccessful villain who’s now dead, end of story.’